Sunday, December 1, 2013

A Pause in Advent

The season of Advent begins on the fourth Sunday before Christmas. While our contemporary consumer culture begins the process celebrating Christmas right after Thanksgiving--with relentless marketing and an endless soundtrack of carols and songs--liturgical tradition takes a different approach. In liturgical churches you won't hear carols or see a Christmas tree in the sanctuary during Advent--those festivities are reserved for Christmas. Advent, by contrast, is a more solemn season of preparation and anticipation. We set aside these four weeks to prepare ourselves to receive this great mystery into our hearts.

"First Sunday of Advent: History of the Feast," God with Us

I've decided at the very last minute to sign up for Floss's A Pause in Advent. I would like the spiritual discipline of taking time every week to write about my favorite liturgical season of the year.

The above passage from God with Us
goes on a little later to say, "Just as we might clean our house in
preparation for the arrival of a special guest, so church tradition asks
us to take stock of our souls and be at our best when the special day
arrives." That's daunting, isn't it--the idea of taking stock of one's
soul? How is your soul doing these days?

In general, I
have felt that my soul is in need of watering. Of better care and
feeding. I was reading an interview with the wonderful (and, sadly,
late) poet Jane Kenyon last night and was struck when she said that
poets need to be stewards of their gifts. "Protect your time," she
writes. "Feed your inner life. Avoid too much noise. Read good books,
have good sentences in your ears. Be by yourself as often as you can.
Walk. Take the phone off the hook. Work regular hours."

Not
only is that wonderful advice for poets, I think it is fine advice for
someone preparing to receive a great mystery. I will do my best to be
quieter this Advent season, to turn off the radio, to turn away from the
Internet, to read poetry and take long walks. On winter Sundays, I like
to set out on a walk twenty minutes or so before dusk, so that as I'm
headed for home the sky is flooded with pink and gold and a blue giving
over to darkness.

I will leave you with a poem by Jane Kenyon from her wonderful collection, Let Evening Come (Graywolf Press, 1990).

Let Evening Come

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

11 comments:

That's brilliant, and I'm also really inspired by the words of the poet which you quote. So simple but true - it's not complicated but it's not necessarily easy, either. Thanks so much for joining the Pause - you are now in my sidebar and I'm looking forward to reading your comments each week in Advent.

I like that last line or two.... God does not leave us comfortless. Thqt in itself is a comfort! I admire that you are able to step back in such a busy season of the year. For me that quiet begins at the end of the school year, which is mercifully earlier than the state schools.

This year I am looking forward to setting up our tree (first time I can say that in a while), planning gift shopping and thinking about our own Christmas meal once all the family get togethers are done. And then I an just looking forward to being still afterwards.

I really like this quote by this poet and am going to put that in my journal! I like the poem, too, but the quote fits me like a comfortable coat...which is very hard for me to find, I might add. Blessings to you as you ponder the Mystery anew!

About Me

I'm a writer and a stay-at-home mom who keeps meaning to mop the floors because I think it would make me happy if I did. I love books and music and writing, spend entirely too much time in the dentist's chair (I bet I have more crowns than you do), and used to think I was sort of bohemian, but now I wonder. No tattoos. Minivan. That story.